His Mom's a Mom

Henry's wet dream of a mother licked her already-glossy lips. She stretched out her fingers, with their talon-like painted nails. And then she sensually wrapped them around... the handle of the iron as she continued to work.

He was a bit stunned. He'd almost expected her to disappear as reality changed -- maybe in bed sleeping after a late night with clients, maybe not even home yet. But she was still ironing at -- he looked over at the digital clock on the oven -- 7:17 in the morning.

What she was ironing now, though, seemed to be a tiny scrap of silver cloth, and it wasn't until she held it up and started folding it that he realized it was apparently a skirt.

"Are you just going to sit here and draw all morning, or were you going to ask me for breakfast?" she asked.

"Y-you'll make me breakfast?" Henry stuttered out.

"Of course!" she replied. "What's your problem this morning?"

"Um, you can just keep ironing," said Henry. "I-I'll just get a bowl of cereal."

"I'm pretty much done anyway," she assured him. "It's not like I need to iron all my leather and vinyl stuff."

"Uh-huh." Henry wasn't quite sure how to process that, but he got up to get the cereal. His eye was caught, though, by the framed photo that had been on the kitchen shelf next to the cookbooks for as long as he could remember. It was a photo from his parents' wedding, showing them standing outside the church, flanked by their attendants.

The pose looked the same as what he remembered. The right half of the photo -- his father with his best man and groomsmen -- looked the same as what he remembered. But on the left side, there was his mother as a younger version of her current red-headed, insanely voluptuous self, and she was wearing what appeared to be a porn-movie parody version of a wedding dress, really more like white lingerie than anything else, complete with white fishnet stockings and platform heels. Next to her, the maid of honor, her sister, his Aunt Paige, who also had red hair and a voluptuous body, and she and the other bridesmaids were wearing outfits that looked like the skimpiest possible version of cheerleader uniforms, only in robin's-egg blue with matching high-heeled knee boots.

His mother spoke right in his ear and made him jump. "Ha, I still can't believe those outfits." She pointed toward the bridesmaid on the far left and said, "Of course, Julie got her **** with those fuchsia corsets a couple years later. That was right after you were born. Good thing, too -- I couldn't imagine trying to find maternity leather in that color."

Henry, meanwhile, had taken the Wheaties box down from atop the refrigerator, and almost dropped it. He was pretty sure that female Olympic pole vaulters weren't supposed to compete in outfits that were little more than red-white-and-blue string bikinis, or have silver jewelry dangling from a pierced navel, or have on so much makeup.

He went back to the table and picked up the pad of paper.

"Oh, honey, you're such a talented artist." His mother was looking over his shoulder. "That looks just like me! Do you think you could do one on better paper I can frame?"

Henry whirled around. "You're the pinnacle of a perfect suburban mother!" he exclaimed.

"I'm happy you feel that way, but I wouldn't say I'm perfect." She was blushing, obvious even through her thick makeup.

"No, I mean -- I mean, that's what I was thinking as I was drawing this." He looked back down at the drawing. He'd been thinking she was a perfect mother while sketching her in the sluttiest attire he could imagine, and now...

I made it so she dresses like this as a normal mother, so I guess that means all "normal" women dress slutty, he thought. I think I've changed the world!

Now knowing that the power of this magic pencil could be shaped by his thoughts, Henry immediately wanted to get back to drawing. On the other hand, another part of him felt that he should wait, spend some more time with his mother, and see if he could find changes to her personality if he dug deeper. Or maybe he should visit his girlfriend Tracy. Or, heck, just go to the nearby Publix and enjoy eyeing the Saturday morning supermarket shoppers. The possibilities seemed nearly endless.